


Chocolate Girl

by Charli



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charli/pseuds/Charli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back from hell, Dean takes his re-virginised hymen on a road test...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics by Deacon Blue

_~He calls her the ‘chocolate girl’,  
Cause he thinks she melts when he touches her.  
And she knows she’s the ‘chocolate girl’,  
Because she’s broken up and swallowed and wrapped in bits of silver_

It doesn’t matter who she is. After forty years in hell you start to understand that names don’t really matter so much. What matters is that Dean needs to know he can still do this.

He needs to know that when he touches her, when he brushes her hair back from her face, when he lightly traces the line of her jaw with his thumb, that she is captivated, that she wants only him.

He wants her to melt under his fingers like a snow flake on the tongue. He wants no resistance, no urgency, and no hot and heavy drama. This has to be smooth and by the numbers.

He feels like he’s about to test drive a new car: something smooth and sleek, and surprisingly powerful. This body he inhabits, bereft of scars and lines; this body has never been lived in, never been loved in, and it needs breaking in slowly. He needs time to adjust to the handling, to the engine timings, to the lack of familiarity that he had with his old skin.

As she begins to explore his new flesh he can feel his nerve endings start to tingle. The tiny blond hairs on his forearms stand on end as she traces a line with her lips from his clavicle to his pelvis.

Finger nails lightly scratch across his hip bones and he feels the heat of her mouth closing over him. He wants to tell her that he’s virgin territory, to be gentle with him. But all he can do is gasp in pleasure.

He knows he should respond to her. That she craves his touch, his tongue, but on this, his getting-out-of-hell Prom Night, he gives himself over to his own pleasure, his own gratification. He feels bad that he’s using her like this. She deserves better, better than him.

As he closes his eyes and gently bucks his hips, easily sliding back into his old rhythm, he ignores the flashes of pain through his mind. He focuses on her soft moans, her ragged breathing, and the patter of the rain against the motel room window. Focuses on anything that will drown out the screams of the tortured and the damned that insist on intruding, forcing themselves into his reality.

In this moment, in this room, he loves her. She makes her mark on his history and even though he will never see her again after tonight, he will remember her with as much affection and importance as his other ‘first time’.

He won’t speak to Sam about this, not in detail anyway. Sam will tease him, joke with him and Dean will say that it was like riding a bike, biting down hard on his tongue at the crassness of the throwaway line.

And suddenly he is reassured that everything is as it was before, as the rushing, whirling, looping climax leaves them slick and satisfied. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. He forces the unwanted memories down into the dark recesses of his mind.

Demons without, demons within.

She knows even here, lying next to him in the half-light, that he was not with her tonight, that his mind, his attention, was drawn far, far away from her. Any other time, any other night, she would mind. But tonight he was hers for the conquering.

She won’t remember his name in the morning, but she will remember the pain she saw in his eyes, the fire that burned, and the passion within them. The passion she mistook on first glance for sexual tension. How she knew at that first glance that this was the guy she would be going home with tonight.

She doesn’t regret it for second. She can’t explain why. He’s not her first, he won’t be her last. She’s certainly had better, or at least more enthusiastic. And yet she knows that somehow this mattered. That tonight this man turned a page in his life story and even though she will only feature in two more paragraphs, still she feels that this was time well spent.

Dean is gone in the morning when she wakes. His scent is on her skin, on the cold pillow beside her and under the empty sheets. She will not look for him; she will not dwell on him. There is nothing tangible left of him apart from a small silver charm on the table beside the bed and a line of rock salt by the door and on the window ledge.

And one day, decades from now, when even her own name is gone from her mind, the angels will come for her. And as she inhales her last breath, her first scent of heaven will cause her to remember a man who loved her once in the darkness of a motel room and she will touch the silver charm around her neck and finally close her eyes.

THE END


End file.
